Ravenworthe

by Ginny Hartman

  If she only knew how much her praise meant, certainly she'd change her opinion of him. He'd have to be careful not to let her know how much he regarded her kindness. Her behavior was a profound change from when they danced the waltz the other night.

  Miss Godwin reached for a satchel on the seat squab next to her, causing him to notice it for the first time. Her hands shook as she laid it in her lap, her fingers trembling to get it open. Once she did, she fished inside until she retrieved several one-pound notes. Holding it out towards him, she explained, “I've no way of knowing what your services are worth, but I'm willing to pay whatever it takes. Let me know if you need more.”

  Colin took the money with a bit of trepidation, feeling for some reason as if he were dirty for doing so. He'd yet to think of this as a paying job, agreeing only to help her because of the way she made his insides tremble with heat. He knew that was his first mistake and vowed it would be his last.

  Stuffing the crumpled bills into his jacket pocket, he nodded his head perfunctorily. “It will depend on the length of the investigation, which only time will tell.”

  “Understood, but I want it clear that money is of no concern. I want you to do whatever you can to ensure my sister is not held responsible for my father's murder.”

  Her eyes were probing him, her jawline firm and resolved. He hesitated, but only slightly, asking himself if he were willing to promise her something that was out of his control. He finally said, with enough confidence he hoped it assured her, “I will do everything within my power to see that justice is served,”

  She trusted him. Colin could tell by the softening of her features, by her unsteady gaze into his eyes, and by the way her body sunk into the seat with relief, and he felt the weight of that trust baring down firmly upon his person.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ravenworthe. I'll forever be indebted to you.”

  Without a thought for proprietary, he blurted out, “My given name is Colin, you may refer to me like that if you wish.”

  Her delicate brows arched on her forehead while she paused, considering what he'd said. As the silence spread long between them, he began to feel foolish for being so familiar until she replied quietly, “And I am Bridget, but don't ever refer to me as anything but Miss Godwin in front of my mother, she'll have a fit of the vapors, I'm certain.”

  Colin smiled widely, saying her name in his mind, loving the closeness he felt knowing they were now on a first-name basis, at least in private.

  “And speaking of my mother,” Bridget interjected, her face suddenly turning sour. “I must warn you that she despises detectives and will not take kindly to your presence in our home.”

  “In all fairness, I have more to concern myself with than a dour mother. I'm fairly confident I will be so terribly busy I won't have time to notice her disdain.”

  “I shall hope.”

  Why did Mrs. Godwin despise detectives? It was only one of the questions rolling around in Colin's mind, begging for an answer. He assured himself he would find out just as soon as he got the chance, and as luck would have it, the opportunity came quicker than he expected.

  “Bridget, where have you been?”

  A slight, older woman who looked an awful lot like Bridget but with liberal streaks of gray in her unkempt hair, rushed forward, her eyes full of fright. They'd just returned to the Godwin residence on Mayfair Square, and Colin had barely begun to notice the opulence of the townhouse when her interruption distracted him from his observation.

  “Mother, I went to seek help. I've hired Mr. Ravenworthe to figure out who murdered Father.”

  Bridget's voice was full of hope, but Colin watched as her mother's sharp response drained her of such a notion. “How dare you invite this man into our home,” Mrs. Godwin spat, twisting her bony hand around Bridget's arm and pulling her away from him as if he were the devil himself.

  “But...I only meant to...we must help Beatrice.”

  “Jasper will help her.”

  “By having her sent away, branded a murderer forever?”

  The horror in Bridget's face caused a protective surge to well up in Colin's breast. He stepped towards the pair, ready to defend Bridget when in barged a large man followed closely by two others.

  Though Colin had never met the first man, he did recognize the others as Bow Street Runners and instantly nodded his head in greeting, which they returned with similar nods.

  “I have brought the authorities,” the large man boasted. “Everything will be taken care of shortly, and we can figure out how to proceed without Elias.”

  “Oh, thank goodness you're here, Jasper,” Mrs. Godwin exhaled, identifying the man for Colin.

  Without even acknowledging his presence, Jasper turned to the Bow Street Runners and said, “I will show you where she is locked up. Come, follow me.”

  “Hold on just a moment,” Colin interjected. “Miss Godwin has reason to believe her sister is innocent of the crime and has hired me to investigate before a decision is made in haste.”

  Jasper slowly turned his thick neck towards Colin, glancing at him with irritation, as if he were a fly buzzing before his face, a nuisance he wished to swat away with his hand. “Pardon? Who are you, and what right do you have to tell me how to proceed?”

  Colin stuck out his hand, “I'm Detective Colin Ravenworthe.”

  Jasper ignored his outstretched hand, turning to the Bow Street Runners and commanding, “Tell him to leave at once. He has no business here.”

  The older one of the Bow Street Runners, a tall man named Nash who looked deceptively pleasant and unassuming, took a step towards Jasper and said with a voice of authority that rivaled his, “Unfortunately that won't be happening. Ravenworthe has worked alongside us before and is very qualified to lead an investigation. If Miss Godwin wishes to employ his services, that is her right to do so, and we will not interfere.”

  Jasper's face turned an unappetizing shade of puce. “But we know who the murderer is!” he exclaimed, spittle bursting forth from his jowls in a wretched fashion.

  “Oh, but do you for certain?” Colin asked, quite enjoying the egocentric man's ire.

  Beside him, Mrs. Godwin began hissing at Bridget, “Tell him you no longer need his assistance and send him away. You can see how upset he is making all of us.”

  Colin looked into Bridget's face and could see clearly that she didn't want to do as her mother bade, but there was an anxiousness there that made him wonder if she'd cave to her mother's wishes out of fear of repercussion.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Godwin, my services have already been paid for in advance so I cannot simply leave without doing as I promised.”

  “Return the money then,” she demanded.

  Colin shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot, for there's already a contract in place that specifically says the money is non-refundable, and I'm too much of a gentleman to simply walk away from a job, keeping money I haven't earned. You see,” he explained innocently, hoping Bridget wouldn't call him out on his lie, “my hands are tied, and there's nothing to be done but go forward with the investigation.”

  He paused briefly, but quickly continued when he could see that Mrs. Godwin was about to fight him, “Let me assure you, ma'am, that I mean you and your family no harm. I am only here to help see that the correct person is held responsible for your husband's murder.”

  A quick glance at Bridget revealed that she was grateful for his words, her eyes told him as much, and his heart lightened considerably.

  “Well, since we are only wasting time by arguing a point that is invalid, I suggest we get on with business,” Nash insisted as he turned to his partner. “Come, Walter and Ravenworthe, let us get to work.”

  With a curt nod in the direction of Mrs. Godwin, Colin turned on his heel and retreated down the hallway, walking right past a seething Jasper with his head held high.

  “The body is in the master's bedchamber on the second floor,” Nash informed Colin as they continued towards the staircase. “
I suggest we begin there and see what we can discover.”

  Since most townhouses were laid out similarly, it didn't take much searching for the trio to find the bedchamber in question. Out of respect for the deceased, the curtains around the bed had been pulled closed, blocking their view of the dead body.

  While Walter went straight for the bed and began pulling the curtains back, Colin took his time inspecting the room. He deliberately took in the surroundings, looking for anything out of place. Much to his disappointment, the bedchamber appeared as put together as any room regularly seen to by hired servants.

  He slowly made his way to the bed and said, “There was no evidence of forced entry into the room, which suggests a stranger didn't commit the act.”

  “We surmised as much,” Nash mumbled.

  “But it's always wise to rule out all possibilities.”

  Nash nodded in agreement as the three stood observing the dead body of Elias Godwin. The blood which was fresh not so long ago had already turned dark and sticky. Colin leaned over the man and took a deep breath in through his mouth before reaching out and sliding the stained dressing shirt up over Elias's chest, giving them a better view of the violence that had been inflicted upon him.

  His hands lightly skimmed the chest, pointing out seven different entry wounds where the dagger sliced through him. “A very violent and excessive crime,” Colin pointed out. “Surely one stab would have been sufficient.”

  “Indeed,” Walter agreed before turning and noticing the dagger on the nightstand. Holding the blood-stained weapon up, he scrutinized it carefully. “This is made of fine materials. I wonder who it belongs to.”

  “We shall find out soon enough,” Nash said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it out for Walter to put the knife in.

  When his inspection of the body was complete, Colin moved quickly to the washing basin to remove the blood from his hands. He lathered up the bar of soap, scrubbing all the way up to his elbows as he speculated on what could have taken place in this room.

  “If Beatrice truly murdered her father,” he began, “that would mean she came into this room quietly without alerting him at all. You can tell by the way he is laying that he made no effort to remove himself from his bed, indicating he didn't have time and that he didn't see what was coming. His hands also show no sign of harm, indicating he made no attempt to defend himself, which I find odd.”

  Colin turned back towards the bed, drying his hands on a soft sheet as he spoke. “Also, it'll be fascinating to hear what Mrs. Godwin says about the events of the night, seeing as she was not in bed with her husband.” Nash and Walter's heads snapped back towards the bed while Colin explained his reasoning, “You see, her side of the bed is completely made up, indicating she never got beneath the covers.”

  “And Mr. Godwin isn't under them either,” Walter exclaimed, proud of himself for noticing.

  “Correct, which makes me very curious indeed,” Colin admitted, his mind speculating on all the possibilities.

  “Perhaps he sleeps warm and doesn't get beneath them.”

  Colin looked at Nash, considering it before turning to the fireplace opposite the bed. He prodded the ashes with a poker and watched as the resurrected smoke swirled about. “I find that unlikely seeing as how there was a fire in the grate last night,” he surmised.

  The three men stood, each of them contemplating what might have happened to poor Mr. Godwin until Nash finally broke the silence. “If you are done with the body, I will make arrangements for it.”

  “Yes, yes, go ahead and see to that, but leave the rest of the room untouched. I may want to come back to it later. As for right now, I have some interrogating I'd like to do. Walter, will you help me?”

  “Of course.”

  They returned to the sitting room where they found Jasper, Bridget, and Mrs. Godwin sitting in awkward silence. As soon as Colin entered the room, Mrs. Godwin looked at him and scowled then averted her gaze while Jasper rose to his feet and began demanding answers.

  “Well, detective, did you figure out who killed my brother?”

  “Not yet. I want to speak to each of you individually about the night's events. Is there somewhere private I can do that?”

  “You can use Father's study,” Bridget chimed in, receiving a withering glare from her mother as a result.

  “I will go first, that way I can show you where it is,” Jasper said begrudgingly.

  Colin followed Jasper down the hall towards the back of the townhouse, where he was led into a dark, but spacious study at least five times the size of his own small office in Cheapside. Jasper promptly sat behind the desk, setting himself up as the superior, waiting to see what Colin would do and how he'd react.

  Colin refused to sit or be bated. He promptly began questioning the man instead. “What time did you retire to bed last night?”

  “Later than usual as we'd only just arrived from London and wanted to wait for my brother and his wife and Bridget to get home from their festivities so we could greet them before retiring. I'd say it was well past three by the time I went to my bedchamber.”

  “And you slept through the night without any interruptions?”

  Jasper's mouth fell open as he glared at Colin. “Do you truly want an accounting of each time I got up to relieve myself? Will that help you solve your case?”

  Ignoring the man's crudeness, he forged on, “Who did you arrive in London with?”

  “Myself and my niece, Beatrice.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To see our family, why else?”

  “Were they expecting you?”

  “No, but I can assure you our visit was welcome.”

  The defensive way he answered the last question made Colin pause. He'd have to ask Mrs. Godwin if that were true. “And tell me about how you learned of your brother's murder.”

  Jasper's hands flew into the air as he spoke. “It was all that loud screaming that alerted me. I was about to ingest my morning meal when I was interrupted by all the yelling. I ran to its source and discovered Beatrice standing above my brother's dead body, a bloody knife in her hand. She was crying hysterically, and I knew at once she must have regretted what she'd done. Poor gel, I do not think she meant to kill him, but she did,” he ended, plying his gaze on Colin in an attempt to intimidate him.

  Luckily for Colin, it didn't work. “How did Beatrice get the knife?”

  “How would I know?” Jasper scoffed. “She could've gotten it from the kitchen for all I know.”

  Colin wanted to roll his eyes. The dagger did not come from the kitchen. “So, the knife did not belong to you?”

  Jasper rose indignantly from behind the desk, placing both of his thick palms in front of him, “If you are insinuating that I may have had a hand in killing my brother, you are wrong.”

  “Sir, I'm insinuating nothing, just asking questions, as is standard.”

  “Then hurry up and be quick, I've yet to break my fast and find myself growing quite ravenous.”

  Nearly an entire minute passed in silence before Colin finally said, “I'm finished. You may go now. Have Walter send Mrs. Godwin in next.”

  A servant stoked the fire in the grate, yet Bridget still found herself wrapping her arms around her body in an attempt to ward off the cold she felt deep inside her bones. Uncle Jasper had returned to the room, looking more perturbed than he had before leaving with Detective Ravenworthe. Bridget surmised the meeting hadn't gone well.

  “Margaret, that blasted detective wants to speak to you next,” he nearly hollered.

  Her mother trembled as she rose to her feet, tightening the shawl around her as she stiffened her shoulders. She glared at Bridget before remarking, “If I must speak with him, I pray it goes quickly.”

  Her mother had barely exited the room when a thought occurred to Bridget. “Uncle Jasper, where is Mr. Townsend?”

  Uncle Jasper shrugged his shoulders, “I haven't a clue, but perhaps I will find him when I go
to break my fast.”

  Just as Uncle Jasper was about to leave, Mr. Townsend appeared. Bridget found it uncanny that he had a propensity to do so whenever she made note of his absence. She squirmed in her seat as he sauntered into the room and began making his excuses.

  “I've just been below stairs to check on Miss Beatrice.”

  “And how is she?” Bridget asked, dreading the answer. Of course, her sister could only be distraught.

  Mr. Townsend nibbled on his lower lip as if he were reluctant to answer, though he finally did. “She is howling like a banshee and refuses to be comforted.”

  Bridget's eyes widened as anger flooded her being. “And why should she be comforted? She's been accused of the most heinous crime and is being kept a prisoner in her own home. Let me go to her,” she insisted as she bolted to her feet.

  Mr. Townsend rose as well, putting his arms around her in a surprising display of familiarity, “My dear, I cannot subject you to that scene. It will undo you.”

  “Undo me?” her eyes squinted at the man in disgust. “I'm already undone, so your concern is invalid.”

  She pulled from his arms and took a step back only to find herself now held captive by her Uncle. “Bridget, stop thinking only of yourself. Think of poor Beatrice. Do you think it will soothe her to have you come speak to her yet not free her as I'm sure she will wish for you to do?”

  “And why can't I?” Indignation rose in her breast, causing her voice to rise an octave. “For all we know, one of you killed Father yet neither of you is being held prisoner until the truth is discovered. I refuse to allow Beatrice to be treated like an animal. I'm going to let her out right now.”

  It took much more strength to withdraw from Uncle Jasper's grasp than it did Mr. Townsend's, but Bridget did it and soon found herself running towards the servant's stairwell, both of the men at her heel.

  With her skirts balled into her grasp, Bridget flew down the stairs, knocking over an unsuspecting scullery maid on her way. She had no time to apologize and kept going, intent on reaching Beatrice before they did.